


Lost In Translation

by sirsparklepants



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Curses, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being a Little Shit, Historical References, M/M, Musical References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27456235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsparklepants/pseuds/sirsparklepants
Summary: When a local village mage curses Jaskier with the loss of  his voice, he won't let that stop him from communicating. His lute serves just as well, after all. Only... Geralt keeps mistaking the lines.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic thinking it would be a funny joke. And frankly, it's still a funny joke! A funny joke I had to put so much coding into. The songs, if they are real songs, are linked in the fic. The footnotes are generally historical notes, in-universe elaboration, or other information that can be read at the end of the chapter or not at all. I broke this fic up because coding all of it and fitting in all the footnotes in one doc was driving me very slightly crazy, but the other half should be up in a couple of weeks. When this is finished, I will be adding both a full playlist and a bibliography, because apparently that's just who I am these days.

The curse was a nuisance and a blight - not just upon Jaskier, nay, but on all of society, and perhaps most importantly, on the wealthy merchant with whom Jaskier had contracted to perform at the end of the week. The man was hoping to marry his daughter up to the chronically impoverished minor nobility in charge of the region, and he hoped to make an impression with Jaskier's reputation. Jaskier couldn't properly convey all that, since he was cruelly muted by the ire of this town's minor practitioner, a washout from Ban Ard. The man had taken exception to Jaskier's music, not his cock, no matter what Geralt seemed to think. Normally such attention would have merited a petty snipe in the tavern, no more, since after playing at royal courts, Jaskier felt well-qualified to say the vexation of this prim traditionalist was rather an endorsement. But as many men with just a little power did, the failed sorcerer felt the need to throw his around like constant use would make up for the lack, and he'd struck down Jaskier with magic most foul while Geralt was out scouting for his hunt. Geralt's lack of care was cruel, cruel and unworthy of Geralt's secret core of nobility, and Jaskier was wounded unto the grave by it. Instead of telling Geralt so, at length, Jaskier followed him out to the stables, jogging to get in front of him to get Geralt's full attention.

"What, Jaskier?" Geralt snapped, stopped at the doorway to the stables. He looked like he was seriously contemplating running Jaskier over bodily to get to Roach. 

Jaskier clutched dramatically at his throat, then strummed at his lute, opening his mouth silently. Then he pointed to the east, where the wealthy merchant lived, and rubbed his fingers together like he would with coins. If Geralt didn't care about the wellbeing of his beloved barker, he would care for missing the hefty payday they were due. 

Geralt rolled his eyes. "You'll be fine," he said. "We'll get paid for that, don't worry."

Jaskier widened his eyes pointedly, then strummed the opening of the tune that built his fame, opening his mouth silently again.

"What, don't think you'd get paid better without your voice?" Geralt said, smirking. Jaskier strummed the loudest, most discordant chord he could without wrecking a string, and Geralt winced. "All right, all right," he said. "The curse won't last. There's barely enough power in that man to light a hearthfire, I could feel it. Should wear off by the time we arrive for the performance." 

Jaskier threw up his hands, pointed at the sun, tracked its path across the horizon, and held up five fingers. What was he supposed to do until then?

"You've got your notebook," Geralt said. "Why should we waste the coin?" He smirked. "A little quiet would be nice."

Jaskier dropped his jaw, outraged, and pointed at Geralt, accusatory. He mimed monster fangs and claws, taking a few menacing steps, then screwed his face up in Geralt's signature scowl and pretended to hold a sword, swinging it. Then he leaned back in a dramatic swoon, "screaming" in fear.

"Hmm," Geralt grumbled. "That is dangerous." Jaskier began to grin in victory, until Geralt added, "You're going to have to stay behind, then."

The pressure of the indignant words building up inside Jaskier made him want to choke. He pointed at Geralt again, and then clutched at his lute. He found himself playing the first line of a melody of a song about a king of Kaedwen who'd disappeared on a pilgrimage to the Temple of Melitele, one he'd played at Valdo Marx whenever he could get away with. "[ _I am the king of murder, the refugees and the wicked rich_ ."](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/wiersz-o-kr%C3%B3lu-boles%C5%82awie-%C5%9Bmia%C5%82ym-poem-about-king-boles%C5%82aw-%C5%9Bmia%C5%82y.html)[1]

Geralt snorted a laugh. "You'll survive," he said. "Don't be so dramatic," and pushed past Jaskier, finally. Jaskier, still seething, let him. Geralt thought it would be quiet for him just because Jaskier didn't have his voice, did he? Well, more fool him! Back at Oxenfurt, it had been a popular game to communicate only in music, humming the melodies to popular songs and classics back and forth at each other, sometimes for days on end. Jaskier could very well do the same with his lute, even without his voice. Using ink on the road was such a chore, anyway.

* * *

  
  


Jaskier's first opportunity to test this lively new form of communication came the very next morning. Despite their conversation the night before, Jaskier got up when Geralt did, which earned him several annoyed glances and huffs. Finally, when Geralt was geared up and Jaskier was in his oldest traveling clothes, the witcher turned to him. 

"You were right last night," he said. "I can't hear you if you're attacked. You need to stay here." 

In response, Jaskier played [ the chord that accompanied dangerous moments in all the cheap melodramas ](https://youtu.be/x7IcPGaswBQ?t=35). He doubted Geralt was one for playhouses, but it had made its way into street theater too, impossible to miss. 

Geralt sighed. "And when you lose your lute?" he asked. 

Jaskier just raised his eyebrows. He hadn't lost this lute over more than twenty years of traipsing around the country, including three separate occasions when thieves had tried to mug him for it. He was hardly likely to do so now. Besides, this was a hunt for Yennefer, one of the ones Jaskier privately termed 'penance errands' in the privacy of his own mind. She was still irritated enough with Geralt to be petty, but Jaskier was absolutely sure if she wanted either of them dead, she'd want to be there to watch it. So it couldn't be _that_ dangerous. 

Geralt just grunted and turned away, but the fact that he wasn't arguing anymore meant that Jaskier had won. He played a jaunty little chord and followed Geralt out the door. 

* * *

Unfortunately, the reason that they were in town - to kill a rather horrible insectoid creature left in the remnants of a much stronger magic than the town wizard's - was the reason that the town mage was hanging about to begin with. Like many of the nasty little critters Geralt was paid to stick his sword into, the parts of it were very valuable for potion-making.[2] Unlike most of them, and the reason why Yennefer was interested, this creature was only created under very rare circumstances indeed, and the mage wasn't strong enough to kill it. Jaskier didn't know all of this as he watched Geralt dodge about, ably avoiding its attempts to knock the witcher down, of course. He only put it together later. As it was, he was perched in a tree, noting all the details he could of the stalwart way Geralt plunged his sword through its armored carapace - what a term! - when he saw the wizard who'd cursed him stride towards Geralt's unprotected back, his hands raised and glowing.

Jaskier's mind went blank. The only thing he could remember was a popular ballad from a several years ago about a king's mage who'd fucked his queen, and he strummed the most relevant line he could think of. "[ _He was big and strong and his eyes a flaming glow_ ](https://youtu.be/6j6xxFCmDDA?t=24) _._ " Then, for good measure, he strummed the danger chord - but Geralt was already whirling around to face the mage.

The man's eyes weren't literally glowing, but they were lit by avarice as he turned on the witcher - and, less metaphorically, by the wavering green glow around his hands. Geralt wasted no time, waving his off hand in a little gesture Jaskier had seen before, knocking the man off his feet, and the glow spluttered.

The mage sat back up, now with forest loam smudged over one cheek. "How dare you," he hissed, and gestured wildly. Behind Geralt, a tree limb cracked and crashed, and the witcher had to duck and roll to avoid it. Jaskier held his breath and clutched the tree trunk.

"My client is a lot scarier than you," Geralt said, circling warily around the mage. He wasn't powerful at all, just like Geralt said, Jaskier thought. He'd been unfortunate enough to be in the middle when Geralt and Yennefer truly set to once, and there would have been scorch marks on the ground and at least three toppled trees by now if she was here.

The mage laughed at him. "How?" he asked, hands glowing again. He swiped one up sharply, and creeping vines grew up to entangle Geralt's feet. "I control the power of nature! Of chaos! And I will have that claw. What use has a human for it?"

Geralt slashed at the vines, leaping free, and rolled again, coming up with his sword perilously close to the mage's throat. "Who said she was a human?" 

The mage gasped, and gestured again. A tree branch swayed down unnaturally, trying to swipe Geralt's sword from his hand. Impatiently, Geralt gestured with his off hand, and a cloud of fire erupted from it, scorching the limb. The mage shrieked, and did… something, circling his hands like he was trying to build the force of the fire, bring it in towards himself. Geralt set his jaw and gestured wider, and the mage's control slipped. The fire ballooned out, scorching his hands, and Jaskier swallowed as the man screamed.[3] Geralt dropped his hand, and the fire went out.

"That'll teach you to play with things you can't control," he said grimly. "If you had stolen from me, you would have had Yennefer of Vengerburg after you, and she would have done worse." 

The mage whimpered, and now that Jaskier could see he would live, the churning in his gut settled. In fact, he felt rather smug as he climbed down from the tree and went to stand beside Geralt. So smug, in fact, that when he was sure he had the mage's attention, he played [ a condescending little series ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtmI--F8Zmo) of notes on his lute.

"And stop cursing humans just because they piss you off," Geralt said, as if it was an afterthought. "I know he's annoying, but you do that to enough of them, they'll turn on you." He left the man in the dirt as he turned back to the corpse, Jaskier following along behind him and strumming a mournful line.

* * *

Jaskier knew Geralt hadn't planned to stay in the town much longer than it took to slay the frightful beast, so he'd packed up his things on Roach that morning. Which was quite lucky, as whatever the general opinion on the mage's attitude was, he was still probably the man most of them went to for charms for good harvests and successful birthings, when things looked a little more difficult than the herbalist could bear. He wouldn't be casting anything anytime soon, and Jaskier didn't care to be pilloried again if he could help it. So he followed Geralt after the general nastiness of the tooth and claw pulling had been done, strumming a traveling song idly on his lute.

It was a lovely day - late spring, with the sun shining warm on the road and birds singing sweetly in the trees. Geralt hadn't been wounded, his armor just needed patching up, and with the heat and the leather, a soft sweat was rising on his face, bringing it color. Jaskier himself was warm with exertion and the blush of pleasure that always hit him when he saw Geralt whole and hale, with his edges softened - he was still on guard, of course, but none of the usual lines of pain were evident around his eyes or mouth, and his brow was mostly unfurrowed. Jaskier let himself look, knowing that nothing ridiculous could stumble out of his mouth, unbidden, for once, and for a few hours he almost didn't mind not being able to sing back at the birds they saw, or call a greeting at the other travelers they passed. But inevitably, his thoughts crept up on him, loud over the quiet hubbub of a spring day, and he put his fingers on his lute strings to stop them.

He found himself drawn to a cheerful song of spring he'd learned at Oxenfurt, one that often made the rounds of the university this time of year, especially the second verse, which he'd warbled enough at pretty girls in the busy streets. His mouth ticked up in a smile as he played, and sang along, even if only in his head. "[Beautiful girls play in the fields - their sweet voices sing new songs and birds approve with their accompaniment ](https://youtu.be/NszUyJg54vQ?t=112)."

"I didn't think you were a religious man," Geralt said from atop Roach, and Jaskier let the lute fall silent as he looked up in confusion. He certainly wasn't. Religious men tended to be respectable.

"The song," Geralt said, and nothing more.

Jaskier frowned. It wasn't religious - ah! That's right, Geralt was much older than he looked, and the tune had been taken from an abbess's composition[4]. Perhaps Geralt had heard it sung at the Temple of Melitele on one of his visits. He shook his head, and played a line from Oxenfurt's official song as explanation. Geralt grunted in satisfaction at him, and said no more, and Jaskier resumed playing. Still, he switched songs. No use courting confusion, and besides, the next lines were about blossoming love. No need to belabor a point he'd already well made to himself.

* * *

By the time they'd stopped to set up camp, Jaskier was thoroughly exasperated with himself. Telling himself not to ruminate on foolish springtime love was clearly useless, because without the ability to distract himself with the patter he spouted, or Geralt's occasional input to bounce off of, he found himself staring wistfully at the witcher no less than three separate times. Drinking songs didn't help. Neither did a rather dry historical epic he'd memorized for a class and never since been able to stop thinking on occasionally. There was only one thing for it. Jaskier sighed deeply and pulled out his notebook. 

"Do you feel like helping any time this evening, or would you rather starve?" Geralt asked. Jaskier played a quick little riff of the elaborate fanfare the host had insisted on for his entrance at the last noble banquet they attended, but then got up as Geralt rolled his eyes. All right, there were two things for it, and the first one was a hearty meal. 

After supper, though, he flipped through his notebook back a few pages to a song he'd left until he was feeling properly wistful and perhaps a bit tragic. It was a maudlin, romantic murder ballad about a lord's daughter who wished to run off with a bandit, only to be betrayed by him. It wasn't quite his usual fare, but something about it appealed tonight. He looked for the last verse he'd finished and started to play, hoping inspiration would come to him as he strummed. 

"That's new," Geralt said, looking up from the thick needle he kept to repair his armor. "Sounds sad." 

Jaskier tilted his head at the notebook. His songs were no mystery to Geralt. The witcher grunted and tied off his stitch, then leaned in to read the verse. 

" _She sighed his name, she closed her eyes - / Waited for love to sheathe betwixt her thighs / But instead of feeling love's warm kiss / She felt her lover's blade sheathe betwixt her ribs_ ," Geralt said, low and not without rhythm. "Mm. Tragic. Then what?" 

Jaskier hadn't been sure, exactly, but looking at Geralt, he suddenly had an idea. He held his hand up in the position Geralt used when he wanted to lay that magical trap of his. 

"A wraith?" Geralt asked. "And she kills her traitorous lover, of course." 

Jaskier played a romantic chord progression that slid into a minor key threat and nodded. Oh, that was quite good, actually. He played it again, tweaking it a bit. 

"And that's the end?" Geralt asked. 

Jaskier tilted his head. It would be the traditional end to the song, given the conceit of the genre. He wasn't sure what could happen after that. 

"Should have a better ending than that," Geralt said, and turned back to his armor. Jaskier sighed to himself. The witcher looked unfairly good in the firelight, just like he looked unfairly good anywhere else. This mournful _pining_ , ugh. It wasn't him. Jaskier was quite sick of it. He wished he could just fuck Geralt and get it out of his system! It might be too late for that by over a decade, but it was certainly worth a try. Then Jaskier froze, going over his own thoughts. Wait. Fuck it out of his system. Now that could be something. He grabbed his notebook and began to write.[5]  


* * *

The route to the merchant's home was fairly populated - he had, after all, settled on the trading route that had earned him his wealth. So midway through their day of travel, about when Jaskier would have resorted to swooning theatrically so Geralt would stop for a meal, they passed through a middling-sized prosperous village. It wasn't quite a town yet, but the market was bustling and the streets were cleaner than Jaskier expected. Briefly, he mourned that he couldn't perform here - he might make a tidy sum - but even if he wasn't cursed, they were on a rather tight schedule.

The townsfolk, however, seemed to know them both by the look. Or by Geralt's look, rather, because they pointed and whispered as they walked by. Normally, Jaskier would take offense, but the tone was rather gleeful, in fact. The village seemed to be quite excited about their arrival, in a way quite different than a town anticipated Geralt when they had a monster problem.

As they made their way towards the village square, they were waylaid by a girl, just about Ciri's age, who tugged boldly at Jaskier's trousers.

"Master bard," she asked breathlessly, grinning, "are you on your way to the wedding?"

Jaskier nodded at her, beaming back.

"I _thought_ so," she said. "Master Mazur has been telling us all that he'd got the famous Master Jaskier to perform for his daughter's wedding, so when I saw the witcher, I knew it had to be you, I knew it!" She turned her back to stick her tongue out at a goggling group of children, and Jaskier laughed silently. At his back, he could practically feel Geralt soften. Fatherhood suited him, even when Ciri had to be with Yennefer for her own safety.

"Will you play for us before you go?" she asked. "Please, will you? We've never had a famous bard here before." Her eyes were wide and shining.

Helplessly, Jaskier played a mournful little trill on his lute, then touched his throat. When this only made the girl frown, he turned to Geralt. Surely the man wouldn't make him leave a face like that without a word.

Geralt sighed, but he was always a sucker for a little girl. "He's been cursed," he told the girl in their path. When her eyes widened, horrified, he added, "Nothing serious. It'll wear off soon. But he can't talk or sing. He'd be happy to perform for you otherwise."

Jaskier played a line from a well-known ballad about a man falsely imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. "[ _One day he'll know the taste of freedom_ ](https://youtu.be/Ec729nmajwc?list=PLtPtBKGcHKMiMKAZsBuIHGQCP27KY6-x8&t=186)." The girl's face, which had fallen when Geralt spoke, rose again slightly.

"Don't be dramatic," Geralt said. "It's just a few days."

Jaskier pressed his hand to his forehead, swooning like a court lady. It was certainly bad enough!

The girl giggled at his antics, and then gasped. "You can still play your lute!" she said, face bright. "It's not the same as if you sang, but would you play us a dance in the square, please?" she asked. "My mother is the innkeeper, I'm sure she'd give you a meal if you did."

"Elena, what are you promising?" a woman called from across the square, making her way over to them. She eyed them with some suspicion.

"Mama, this is Master Jaskier and his witcher!" the girl said. Beside him, Geralt snorted. It was the first time someone who didn't know Jaskier personally had referred to him as such. "Master Jaskier is cursed, but I said if he still played us a dance in the square, you'd give them something to eat before they were on their way."

The furrow in the woman's brow smoothed over. "Master Jaskier, eh?" she asked. "Master Mazur has been bragging about your performance for weeks. We'd be much obliged if you'd play a song or two for us before you move on."

Jaskier bowed at her elaborately and played a progression of notes on his lute. Even if he couldn't sing for them, this he could do.

It didn't take much to get the town's attention. Jaskier simply found a low wall to sit on and clapped his hands. When the square's attention turned to him, he played [ a dance tune popular with many ](https://youtu.be/f47A5wfwaWg?t=5) \- usually played with a group of musicians in a noble hall, but he'd adapted it to suit the lute alone. People's heads turned when the music began, smiles appearing on faces, and when Elena coaxed her mother into dancing with her, more than a few townsfolk began to clap along. Even without his voice, it was easy to follow the mood of the crowd and swing into another upbeat jig. An old couple swung into the middle of the square, dancing together, and then three young ones, so as not to be outdone. And from there, it was easy enough to transition into Toss A Coin To Your Witcher and get some of those smiles facing Geralt.

When he finished with a flourish, Jaskier made a half-bow over his lute and grinned at the laughing, clapping crowd. He hopped down from the wall and towed Geralt over to Elena's mother, winking at her. The woman shook her head at him, but she couldn't hide her own smile.

"All right, Master Jaskier, that was certainly a performance worthy of a meal," she said. "Come along, you and your witcher both."

The inn wasn't much - a large block-built building around a central firepit, lined with benches and trestle tables, and a corner with a door leading down for cold storage and barrels of beer, with a few beds stacked in one corner.[6] But there was a spit of meat over the fire that smelled mouthwatering, and that was good enough for Jaskier. 

There wasn't much noise over their food - heaping slices of roast mutton over pickled beets with barley bread - but it was quite a satisfying meal, and Jasker caught the innkeep's eye and rubbed his stomach expressively. The woman laughed, and he winked, heartened that his ability to flirt wasn't gone with his voice. Next to him, Geralt snorted and stole a slice of his mutton.

Jaskier turned to him, one hand over his heart, and slapped at the witcher's thieving hands indignantly. Geralt simply grinned at him, chewing slowly and with great relish. Not to be outdone, Jaskier snatched at Geralt's cup, intent on downing as much of the really quite all right beer as he could before it got taken back. A slight scuffle ensued, and by the time things were sorted, with most of Geralt's beer in Jaskier's belly, the innkeeper had walked away to tend to her own business. Jaskier heaved a sigh. He had meant to play her something to thank her for the meal - and because making a pretty woman smile was its own reward. Ah, well.

"I'm... sorry you can't perform tonight," Geralt said from beside him, and Jaskier turned to look at him with a frown. He hadn't been thinking that at all.

"You seemed… melancholy," the witcher elaborated. "That we couldn't stay here tonight. They were a good audience."

Jaskier scrambled in his bag for charcoal and a scrap of paper, since they were actually sitting. " _Don't be ridiculous, we're on a schedule_ ," he wrote. " _Besides, I know you and your beds, and these weren't up to your standards. Even if I had my voice we'd be moving on._ " Because Geralt, much as he liked to present himself as a rough and tumble man of the woods, liked no creature comfort so much as a hot bath and a soft bed, stuffed with straw or feathers. These beds were typical of small villages - wood slabs and rope topped with a few furs and a thin stuffed pad if they were lucky. Geralt would just as soon sleep on his bedroll on a bed of green branches and save the money with beds like these, Jaskier had learned.

Geralt read the note, then turned to stare at Jaskier with his usual focused intent. "You wouldn't be talking yourself into the innkeeper's bed, then?" he asked. "If you had your voice."

Jaskier blinked. The woman did likely have a more comfortable bed than the ones they saw, but Jaskier had long been past trying to fuck Geralt out of his system - and quick as he was to romance, this brief stop wasn't quite enough for him. He didn't know how to put all that to paper without saying too much, though, so he played a line from a happy little ditty about traveling instead.

Geralt's eyebrows shot up. "Is that the way," he said. Jaskier blinked at him in mute incomprehension and played the line over in his mind, and then sat up and flushed. The traveling song was based on an older drinking song that had long fallen out of favor for its hidden sentiment - brothers in arms over all, and all that, but the brotherhood in question involved a lot of declarations that a man would never need a woman with a brother like that, and other such suggestive notions. The line in question that corresponded with what Jaskier had played fit well enough, though, something about never abandoning a brother for a woman, so Jaskier shrugged. It was true too, after all. No harm in letting the little misunderstanding slide. Geralt could be so sensitive about his age sometimes, after all.

That, of course, turned out to be the biggest mistake Jaskier had made this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 This poem is about Boleslaw the Bold, who was king of Poland from 1076 to 1079. He was deposed after being excommunicated by Bishop Stanislaus for infidelity, and died afterwards, though where his body is and when exactly he died is a mystery. There's a legend that he went to the Pope begging for forgiveness, and was told he had to be a mute penitent, so he wandered before serving at the Abbey of Ossiach - which is what this poem is about.  
> [return to text ]  
> 2This is, if it's unclear from context, a Frightener. I picked it because the wiki had it providing an alchemy ingredient used for a potion given to a sorceress. The wiki also says it's a desert creature and they're in a forest but I choose to take liberties because most of the rest of the entry is about how it's exclusively created by magic so it could be anywhere, really. [return to text]  
> 3From the Glossary entry for magic in the first game (via the wiki): "The power used to cast spells is drawn from the elements. Fire is the best but simultaneously most dangerous elemental source. Mages who specialize in the magic of fire often achieve great power, but they pay a price for it: as fire addicts, they often suffer burns or even die engulfed in flames." [ return to text ]  
> 4The Carmina Burana - the source from which the Orff composition was based - is a collection of poems, 60 of which were set to music, from the 11th to 13th centuries, making it one of Jaskier's contemporaries. Many of the songs were by the goliards, wandering clergy who one source describes as the medieval equivalent of the Beat Generation, highly critical of the system. They wrote satirical songs about the church as well as music celebrating earthly life like love, eating, and drinking. Many of these songs were contrafactum, text set to the tune of another, existing song. Often in the case of the goliards they were satirical, and usually secular words set to religious tunes. This one, Tempus Transit Gelidum, is a contrafactum of Hildegard von Bingen's Fulget Dies Celebris. [ return to text ]  
> 5There wasn't really a good place to work this into the story, but the ballad eventually ends with a witch being summoned to the village to deal with the ghost maiden, who's been killing young men who tell lovers' lies, and on Saovine the witch captures the wraith in a ritual circle to give her the pleasure she never felt in life, after which she moves on. [ return to text ]  
> 6This isn't accurate to the show, but the show isn't particularly historically accurate. I'm basing the beds and the inn off of Duppel Museum Village in Berlin, a living history museum of an 11th-13th century reconstructed Slavic village. My in-universe explanation is that larger and wealthier towns have more modern beds and architecture than out of the way villages.[ return to text ]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, remember when I said it would be a couple of weeks to the next chapter? And that it would be the last? Yeah, well, apparently I lied to you, but I wanted to get this one out before the end of the year.

Sunset in May came late, and they'd stopped at the village longer than Geralt would like, so they pushed on later than usual. Only when the last of the sunlight Jaskier's eyes could perceive was fading and the stars began to peek out did they stop. By that time Jaskier was desperately hungry, lunch being a long way away, in a way that wouldn't be satisfied with travel rations. When his stomach grumbled, Geralt paused with untacking Roach and shoved a wedge of hard, crumbly cheese and some nuts into his hands. They had no fire, as of yet, because it was too dark for Jaskier to gather the wood for one. Jaskier bowed elaborately to Geralt in thanks, and set to with a will as the witcher finished seeing to his horse.

"Clear a space for a fire, if you can," Geralt said in the deepening dark. "I'll get the wood while I look for game."

Jaskier nodded at him, knowing Geralt could see him despite the low light, and pulled his lute out to begin to play softly. The downside of stopping at the edge of twilight was Jaskier was utterly useless in setting up camp. All he could do was play, and so play he did, [a soft and not quite mournful tune that felt appropriate for the evening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvNZeh6f8vE). He could barely see the strings of his lute like this, but that was alright. His fingers knew exactly where to be.

The light was completely gone by the time he fell silent. The stars were out, and a slice of the moon, but Jaskier was no witcher to see by such little light. He feared getting up and tripping over a tree root or a rock or something. Ah, yes, Geralt had asked him to clear a space for a fire. That, at least, he could do by touch.

Jaskier was on his hands and knees, brushing aside tender green shoots and rocks when he heard the noise. He froze. Was it a rustle in the undergrowth or just the wind? Or his admittedly rather overactive imagination? He opened his mouth to call quietly for Geralt, and touched his throat when no sound issued forth. A sweat broke out on the back of his neck. It could be a monster. It could be Geralt. It could be a nocturnal animal drawn by his noise. Jaskier did feel helpless without his voice, now, in the dark wilderness far from habitation.

He sat up slowly, not wishing to draw the attention of whatever it was if it was hostile, and felt around for his lute, breathing a little easier with the familiar smooth wood in his hands. He didn't play the danger chord, because he didn't know if it was, but instead reached for an equivalent to the quiet call of Geralt's name he'd give if he doubted the noise was him. What came to mind was a rather appropriate ballad, and he smiled a bit grimly as he played, "[ _I have a constant fear that something's always near_](https://youtu.be/XWIGbHhSsGs?t=84)."

It seemed to take an age before Jaskier heard anything else, the blood thundering in his ears. His fingers moved, ready to strum the danger chord as loud as he possibly could, when Geralt's voice emerged from the thick darkness. "Just me," he said. Jaskier caught the shine of his eyes in the dark now that he knew where to look, and he heaved in a breath of relief. His fingers were tight against the neck of his lute, and he slowly released them, stretching to prevent cramps.

Something thumped on the ground as Geralt stepped closer, and then his eyes lowered to Jaskier's level as he presumably arranged the wood, judging by the noise. Then, suddenly, there was fire blooming from Geralt's hand, catching on the wood and driving back the dark.

Jaskier blinked, eyes stinging at the sudden light. When he could focus again, he caught Geralt's gaze and nodded. The witcher's eyes were slits, pupils barely visible, but he was staring at Jaskier. The bard felt suddenly aware of the dampness at his hairline, the overly fast beat of his heart. No doubt Geralt could pick up on all of it, and that was why he'd started the fire so quickly. Generally he preferred to let it build naturally, let his eyes adjust, but Jaskier was grateful for the consideration tonight.

"We'll stop before full dark tomorrow," Geralt said abruptly, still crouched by the fire. Jaskier tilted his head in a wordless question.

"I want you to be able to see me like this," Geralt said. "Lute doesn't carry as well as your voice. I should have stayed closer." His voice was tight - not quite angry, but close. Guilty, perhaps.

Jaskier was halfway up from his makeshift seat before he thought about it, hand outstretched. And then there was nothing for it but to carry through. He circled the fire until he was kneeling by Geralt, and reached out slowly to cup the witcher's chin in his hand. Geralt's mouth was downturned, as it so often was, but Jaskier hated to be the cause of it. He brushed that mouth with his thumb, slowly tracing the downward curve. He could feel Geralt's breath, and abruptly he became aware of how charged the motion was, how Geralt's gaze never left him. Jaskier took in a breath, and then softly pushed the corner of Geralt's mouth up with his thumb in an attempt to salvage the situation. He grinned at Geralt, big and exaggerated.

The witcher didn't smile, but he did snort, and his mouth softened. Jaskier let his face drop into a more natural expression and withdrew his hand, patting Geralt's cheek.

Geralt looked at him thoughtfully and seemed about to say something. But his gaze dropped when Jaskier's stomach audibly rumbled, and he snorted again, and when his eyes met Jaskier's, the moment was broken. The witcher stood up to retrieve whatever he'd acquired for their dinner, and Jaskier went back to his spot.

* * *

Geralt always woke before Jaskier when they were on the road, and usually waited to perform the noisiest tasks - packing the saddlebags and stamping out the remains of the fire - and usually Jaskier appreciated the courtesy. This morning, however, the sun was just barely up, enough Jaskier wouldn't trip over his own feet, when the familiar sounds roused him.

He was tempted, really, to complain - but the initial urge was stifled by the silence of his voice, and once he'd woken up enough to reach for the shape of his lute in its case he abandoned the notion altogether. If they were to stop earlier so Jaskier could feel safe - Geralt hadn't said so explicitly, but he hardly needed to - then they'd need to start earlier as well. Still, Jaskier didn't feel the need to get up quite this early. He rubbed at his eyes and sighed before beginning to ready his things.

There was, however, breakfast when he'd finished. Geralt had left a chunk of bread on the rocks surrounding the fire, and when Jaskier packed his things to go on Roach, the witcher handed it to him. Last night, Geralt had found a partridge nest, so along with the leftovers from the mated pair they'd shared for dinner, there were the eggs he'd boiled hard for them to eat as they traveled. Jaskier smiled at Geralt when he was passed his share, and as the food hit his stomach, his outlook began to look up. Yes, certainly it was early, but the weather was still pleasantly cool and the wild birds were singing in the hedgerows, uncaring of the voraciousness with which Jaskier tore into their kin. The bread was still fresh and gave easily to his teeth, and Geralt had stuffed the pheasants with wild onion before he put them on the spit, so the meat was quite toothsome. Truly, it wasn't a bad life he had.

The bread was gone quick as a flash, and the eggs not long after. Jaskier had saved the meat for last, because Geralt had given him a lovely dark meat portion, close to the skin, and he wished to savor it. If he weren't walking, he might have closed his eyes to appreciate it more. If it weren't for the curse, he certainly would have been making incredibly appreciative noises. He licked his fingers as the last of it disappeared down his gullet.

From atop his horse, Geralt chuckled. "Enjoying that, are you?" he asked. His own breakfast was nearly gone, but he held out the last sliver of the partridge for Jaskier to take. He did this, sometimes, and Jaskier tried to pay him back by finding the most extravagant sweetmeats a city had to offer for them.

Feeling cheeky, Jaskier snatched the meat from Geralt's fingers with his teeth, since it was so close to his face anyway. Then he wiped his fingers with a handkerchief and settled them on the lute.

"[ _The good life is easy, but your stomach's work is hard_](https://youtu.be/drHDS27ioDk&t=142)," he strummed, part of an engaging little ditty about the god of food.

Geralt smiled at him, more warmly than the song really called for. "I suppose you would know about pleasure, bard," he said.

Well, he wasn't wrong, but it did seem a bit of a non-sequitur, Jaskier thought. Still, the general sentiment was there. He played a bit of idle fumbling - warmup exercises for his fingers more than anything, while he puzzled over it. After these many years, Geralt and he usually understood each other very well.

Several minutes later, he almost stumbled over his own feet. He'd done it again - played a song that took its tune from another, older one. It was such a common practice that he hadn't even thought - truly, it was flattery to the original composer, and several young bards had done the same with a tune or two of his. But this song wasn't an abbess's holy musings. Instead, it was a love song longing to be with one's faraway lover. Jaskier felt heat creeping up the back of his neck and ears. Quickly, he ran through the lines in his mind, trying to remember, hoping the words he'd inadvertently chosen were at least somewhat innocuous. What had Geralt said?

Oh, yes, that was the line. "[ _A pleasure, being by her side, and a welcome there: gifts are these!_](https://youtu.be/FOmaUjyP4PY&t=129)"[7] Well, it certainly could have been worse. It could have been much better, but it could have been worse. He didn't see any way to correct the misunderstanding as they traveled on, and it wasn't urgent enough to beg Geralt for a stop just so he could pull out his notebook. Jaskier bit his lip, and walked on.

* * *

Sometimes, when he was in a particularly amicable mood, Geralt liked to toss song names at him. He never said whether he meant them as requests, puzzles to stump Jaskier, or simply something that their conversation had reminded him of. Nevertheless, if he knew them - Geralt was, after all, older and very well-traveled - Jaskier often treated them like the first. Today, Geralt seemed to be both amicable and quite… amorous. The songs he threw out were, to a one, extremely bawdy, starting with Fishmonger's Daughter and going on from there.

Jaskier wasn't much of a blusher - what good was a bard who turned pink at a ribald tavern song? - but he was feeling decidedly warm by the time he'd finished strumming Geralt's latest choice, a ballad of two men's adventures competing in a bawdy house. The lyrics could truly only be sung in such a place, and for once Jaskier could be thankful for the curse, as he certainly wouldn't know if they were about to encounter other travelers. That didn't stop the words from running through his head, all large pricks and flushed cheeks - both kinds - and shining lips. The song ended with an orgiastic finale, both men removing the rings from their cocks and promptly coming so hard they passed out, and the brothel workers let them keep their purses for such a night of pleasure. It was ridiculous, Jaskier had often thought. No man could keep up with such desires, no matter how much he wanted to. But seeing Geralt subtly sway on top of Roach in the song's rhythm, Jaskier could only think about the rumors he'd heard of witcher stamina, how long he used to take when he disappeared with Yennefer, the amount of money he did spend at the bawdy houses. Could Geralt do such a thing, he wondered? Satisfy a whole brothel?

He firmly wrenched his mind away from such considerations. If the witcher could do so, it was his business alone. As the last sequence rang out, Jaskier started playing something else entirely - a ballad. He had to get off this track.

As he played the opening chords, Geralt audibly chuckled from atop the horse. "Still on that?" he asked as Jaskier played.

Oh, shit. It wasn't any old ballad. It was the one he'd written for Geralt to convince a succubus out of hiding so he could talk to her. Or talk to her, Jaskier had never been sure. " _If our bodies could a song compose_ …[8]" it began. He'd often played it when Geralt had been particularly overbearing about not getting involved, or when Jaskier had thought the witcher could use a good roll in the hay.

Well, he'd begun it. He'd finish it with as much flourish as he could, especially the bits about the witcher's sword and skill.

Geralt shook his head as he finished. "If you want a witcher who's fucked a succubus, you're talking to the wrong one," he said.

Jaskier strummed an impatient little jangle of strings. This wasn't the first time Geralt had hinted at such a thing, but it was the most clear he'd been about it. And he couldn't ask any questions! Which was probably why Geralt had said it.

"Not my story," the witcher said. "Play The Miller and the Lass, that's more entertaining."

If Jaskier could, he would scream. He wasn't playing a single more bawdy ballad today! He never thought such a thought would cross his mind, but Geralt of Rivia drove him to things he'd never thought he'd do. Instead, he began another ballad entirely. "[ _Alas, my love, you do me wrong_](https://youtu.be/OCpF2cwm_04&t=4)."

"Jolene, truly?" Geralt asked. "You've never followed my whims in your life."

Decidedly, Jaskier put his lute on his back and strode ahead of Roach. Really? Jolene sounded nothing like Greensleeves! Well, perhaps to the untrained ear, the individual line in question - "[ _My happiness is at thy whim_](https://youtu.be/ugqQlB5fpuc&t=145)" - might sound a bit like it. But not that much. He stomped forward, frustrated arousal bubbling in his blood.

For a few minutes, Geralt let him walk ahead, but soon enough, Roach drew even with him again.

"All right, no more bawdy songs," Geralt said.

Jaskier sighed and cut an elaborate bow the witcher's way, smiling slightly.

"I miss your voice, anyway," Geralt added, and left Jaskier gaping in his dust.

* * *

This time, before he left, Geralt started a fire. Jaskier didn't need it quite yet but he was grateful for the consideration. He opted to leave the lute slung across his back, in easy reach in case he had to call out, and pulled out his notebook to work instead. He really had to get his head on straight. Twenty years with Geralt - admittedly, some more on than off - and a few days of silence were what was going to turn his head around like this? No, certainly not! He'd get started on a song and that would fix him right up. (He carefully ignored all the other songs about Geralt. A temporary fix was a fix nonetheless.)

Around Jaskier, the sounds of the fields and woods at night began to start, much more comforting when joined with the crackling of a campfire. Truly, he did like evenings like these. He loved people, but something about the solitude of a countryside night allowed the constant chatter in his mind to quiet. The only thing missing was the quiet presence of his companion.

Hmm. He frowned at his last line and looked up. It had been a while, hadn't it? Jaskier was sure that he'd have caught the sounds of a monster battle, but just because Geralt had promised to stay within listening distance of Jaskier didn't mean that Jaskier was in listening distance of him, after all. Nothing was truly wrong, so he didn't want to play and distract Geralt, if something nasty was in the offing, but Jaskier was quite curious about what had kept the witcher.

He blew on the ink to help it dry, then slammed the notebook decisively shut. He'd go after Geralt, then. If it sounded too nasty, well, he'd learned what a safe distance truly was, and if the witcher needed help, he could do that too.

About ten steps away from the circle of light the campfire cast, Jaskier began to rethink his decision. It certainly wasn't a true forest they were in, just fields with a few small trees and tall hedges here and there, but the dark was growing and his eyes weren't getting any better as he aged. But he was committed now. His concern and curiosity were both roused, and he would find Geralt, or, worst came to worst, make the witcher find him.

The moon was waxing, at least. Jaskier stood still, his back to the waning firelight, and allowed his eyes to adjust as much as they could. Then he took ten more steps out and began to walk in a circle, listening for signs of Geralt.

It was only because the dirt was soft and the grass was green that he managed to keep his steps quiet. And it was only because Geralt was distracted that it made a difference. Nevertheless, he caught sight of Geralt's broad back before Geralt noticed him.

The witcher was kneeling in front of a blackberry bramble, head down, peering intently at something within its depths. There was a heap several feet off to one side - their dinner, Jaskier presumed - and some sort of rustling within the bramble. Was Geralt picking them blackberries for their dinner? Normally Jaskier wouldn't mind - certainly, he'd encourage such culinary delights - but the blackberries weren't even close to ripe yet. He shifted, debating on stepping forward, when a furious peeping erupted from the bramble.

"I know," Geralt said over the peeping, in the same voice he used for Roach. "Almost done." The peeping picked up in volume, and Jaskier was almost sure Geralt flinched, but he kept doing whatever it was he was doing. Jaskier took a few steps, quiet as he could make them, around the edge of the small clearing, at the same time Geralt turned. Their gazes met, and Jaskier thought Geralt looked a bit shocked.

The peeping started up again, and no mistaking it this time - Geralt did flinch. They both looked down at his hands - bare, and covered with scratches from the bramble - as whatever was inside them made a furious little clamor. Geralt stood up, breaking Jaskier's gaze, and walked over to a tree with low-hanging branches. Jaskier followed closely, robbed of the need for secrecy.

Geralt placed a small brown bird on the branch, puffed up and angry, and as soon as his hands were clear - Jaskier could see the bird had been scratching - it flew up and away, still twittering. Geralt watched it - a nightingale, Jaskier realized, when it began singing its characteristic song - somewhat wistfully, Jaskier thought. When it had cleared the range of even a witcher's enhanced vision, he turned away.

Jaskier wasn't pleased to be so thoroughly ignored, but Geralt was his ticket back to camp, so he didn't sling his lute around to his front - yet. He watched his friend lean down to get something, a little puddle of black that Jaskier had entirely missed in the darkness. The leather gloves he wore hunting. But why hadn't Geralt worn them just now? Surely it would have protected him both from the bramble and the bird.

When the witcher bent to pick up their meal - rabbits, their insides clean and a little wet with blood - Jaskier understood, and his heart clenched. There must have been blood on the gloves. Geralt hadn't wanted to scare the nightingale[9].

He dearly wished to have his voice back - the thoughts all jumbled up in his head, tried to force their way out through his mouth, and simply weren't able to. Instead, he settled his lute towards his front and played a few idle chords as he fell into step beside Geralt.

The witcher glanced over at him a couple of times as they made their way back towards camp, and Jaskier fought to school his expression. Not necessarily his greatest skill, alas. But he did notice that Geralt's gaze kept darting towards his fingers, as if he both expected and feared a new composition to come flying out of them.

Finally, when they both could see the circle of firelight they'd left behind, Geralt grunted, "No meat on it anyway."

Jaskier grinned at this pathetic excuse, and the perfect retort flew into his head. Of course he'd be creating his own song about this, but for now… He began playing a jaunty little sequence of chords.

"[ _Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods? Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?_](https://youtu.be/UnHdix4ISes&t=28)"

"Jaskier," Geralt groaned. He'd given the bard many a lecture on how he felt about heroism. Jaskier looked up and met his eyes, then grinned wider as he went sailing into the chorus.

" _I need a hero… I'm holding out for a hero til the end of the night…_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7While contrafactums were an incredibly common practice, only a few can be verified today. I hope you enjoyed the last time they will be featured in this fic - really, I could only make two of them work. From now on I'll be slamming in whatever I like together. [ return to text ]  
> 8This is a quest from The Witcher 2, which I haven't played and somewhat breaks the timeline, but it seemed so fun I had to reference it. [ return to text ]  
> 9Nightingales, like many birds, have very little sense of smell, but in Geralt's defense, he's used to mammals and monsters that are scent hunters, so he's doing his best. In my defense, I needed that sense of tenderness and vulnerability, and also Geralt gets himself hurt to defend others A Lot. [ return to text ]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're here! A bonus chapter with a full playlist (including bonus wedding songs) and my amateur bibliography will be up... later today, at some point when I feel like coding again. Thanks for reading!

The next morning wasn't nearly as merry. Jaskier was quiet for the first part of their travels - not the quiet that he'd been forced to adopt alone, but his instrument was quiet as well. He couldn't help it. The words that would normally be bubbling out of him were choked in his throat, perhaps never to be spoken again. It was if the weight of all those unheard thoughts dragged him down. His every move was listless, and it was all he could do to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

Throughout the morning, Geralt sent him glances as this unusual state of affairs continued. The first time, Jaskier mustered up a little string of nonsense that sounded limp and lifeless to his ears, and Geralt apparently agreed, judging by the scrutiny Jaskier was subjected to. Eventually, though, Roach snorted, and the witcher had to look back at the road.

Not half an hour later, Jaskier was subject to the same treatment. He smiled up at Geralt, who hummed low in his throat. It was a short smile, Jaskier knew, short and more "complacent" than "joyful", but it was what he could give. Geralt was no more satisfied this time than the last.

The next time Geralt looked back, Jaskier simply met his gaze. That got him a minute deepening of the permanent crease between Geralt's brows, but he looked back at the road much sooner this time, so Jaskier counted it a success.

Their pace that morning was somewhat above plodding, so Jaskier was surprised when Geralt pulled Roach to a shady spot shortly after midday. She hadn't done much more work than usual, and under normal circumstances they would have eaten a brief repast on the move at such a speed. But it was rather warm, so perhaps Geralt had decided to let his mare cool off.

Geralt parceled out nuts and cheese and dried currants - rather a bounty, but spring usually was good to them as it ran into summer. They sat together on the grass, filling their bellies and listening to the birds twitter. Jaskier's heart made a valiant attempt to lift in his chest, only to sink like a stone when he instinctively pursed his lips to whistle along and heard only silence. He closed his eyes against the sudden rush of despair.

The witcher grunted from beside him and turned, jostling Jaskier with his elbow. "All right, out with it," he said.

Jaskier opened his eyes and gave Geralt the most exaggerated look of wide-eyed innocence he could muster - which was quite a look, having been practiced on Oxenfurt professors and angry spouses alike.

Geralt just snorted, though. "You've been moping," he said. "What's wrong?"

His voice was gruff, as always, but the scowl was more transparent than he likely guessed. The furrow between his brows was accompanied by a certain downturn to the lips, a little crinkling around the eyes that bespoke concern. Jaskier sighed and moved his lute into position. Someone else's words would have to do for now. He didn't feel up to trying to form his own.

" _[And feare, and griefe, and paine for my deserts, for my deserts, are my hopes since hope is gone](https://youtu.be/blk0cgnNUKE&t=154)_ ," he played. Dramatic, perhaps, but truly, the fear that choked him felt dramatic and final. Words, words were his language, his claim to fame, his modus operandi. Who was he without them? He looked up at Geralt.

The witcher hummed at him, predictably. Then, far less predictably, he placed his hand on Jaskier's knee, warm and firm, and some of the worry left.

"Suppose it's only fair I go first," Geralt said, and Jaskier almost threw his hands up, punched the witcher, because this was exactly the problem, he was sick of being misunderstood! He was not trying to tell Geralt that [he wished for his heartache](https://youtu.be/i2zpbcW-h-c&t=60) \- his own right now was quite enough. The only thing that stopped him, ironically, was the touch of the witcher's hand.

Geralt shifted, and a bit of the frown softened in his face. The tightness around his eyes remained, however, and he squeezed Jaskier's leg once more before speaking.

"This is the second time you've lost your voice while traveling with me," the witcher said, staring down at his hand. "The first one was directly my doing, but you forgave me. This one is indirectly mine. I know your voice is important to you. It would make sense for you to not risk a third time."

Without his thought or direction, Jaskier's hand came up to cover Geralt's. He held it firmly until Geralt released his knee, then covered the witcher's hand between both of his own. He shook his head sharply, then placed Geralt's hand on his own chest, so Geralt could feel the sincerity in his heartbeat. Jaskier took a moment to think, trying to choose a song that couldn't possibly be understood. Then he moved his fingers to his lute and played.

" _[Only pleasure he gets out of life is traveling from town to town](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJh865acA-U)_ ," he played, part of a - well, a depressing ballad about a man losing his fortune to drink and bawdy houses. But no one had wanted to change the words, that was the important thing. He let one hand drift up to rest on Geralt's hand again, looking the witcher in the eyes and willing him to understand.[10]

Geralt snorted. "Certainly not the only pleasure," he said, turning his face away.

Jaskier grabbed for the witcher's hand again with one of his own, and used the other to turn Geralt's face back to meet his gaze. Then he brought their joined hands to tap on the witcher's chest. He gestured at Roach, the road, his lute, and nodded decisively.

Geralt blew out a breath. He looked down at their joined hands, then tentatively brought them to Jaskier's chest, apparently out of words to express that the feeling was quite mutual. Jaskier beamed at him and gave him a minute's respite before he squeezed Geralt's hand, let it go, and dropped both of his own back in his lap.

"Your turn," Geralt said, after a minute more of companionable silence. "What's bothering you, Jaskier?"

Jaskier heaved a sigh, heavy enough Geralt could see it in the movement of his body. Then he touched his throat, pointed at the sun, followed its track westward to the horizon, and touched his throat again - opened his mouth silently, pointedly. He shrugged and opened his hands at Geralt, an exaggerated question.

Geralt exhaled. "Ah," he said, more of a subvocal hum than a response. He caught Jaskier's hand and pressed it to the wolf's head on his chest. Under Jaskier's palm, it shivered, but so faintly he thought he could have imagined it.

"It's a weak curse, and fading," Geralt said. "My medallion moves less each day. It should break very soon."

Reflexively, Jaskier closed his hand around the pendant - was it just what Geralt had said, or was the movement fading? No, there was a rhythm to it, and it was ever-so-slightly out of tempo. It was slowing. He met Geralt's gaze, and let go.

"Better?" the witcher asked.

Jaskier assessed himself, and found it to be so. He nodded at Geralt decisively.

"Good," Geralt said, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Then maybe you'll stop fucking moping around."

For the first time that day, Jaskier felt like laughing, and the twinge in his chest when it came out silently was weak. Yes, he was silenced now. But he had Geralt's word it wouldn't last.

* * *

While Geralt was quiet - for him, anyway, which meant he responded to Jaskier in grunts and body language alone - for the rest of the day, Jaskier wasn't. Enough idle little ditties came to his hand that he felt sure there was a song coming, too, if he could just be patient with it. A song about the curse, perhaps - what better way to shrug off the sorcerer's hold on him than that? Something that involved a tremolo[11], to mimic the way the medallion had shivered beneath his hand, only going slower and slower until it stopped and he broke into triumphant song. Jaskier plucked a few combinations, trying lines in his head. " _And the curse did fade, did fade… / His weak little spell lasted less than a day!_ " For it wouldn't do to let on how long he'd been mute, of course. Yes, he quite liked that.

That project kept him well occupied, so he was surprised to realize how low the sun had sank when they stopped for the night. He helped Geralt set up camp, of course, but the whole time his fingers itched for his instrument, and it was no hardship to stay by the fire while Geralt hunted and cooked. He missed his voice, of course, as he worked out the melody, but he told himself to think of it of an exercise, the kind he gave out to students and, many years ago, received himself, and that made it alright for a time. He stopped only to eat, intending to wolf the food down and get back to work, but the first bite made him pause. Geralt had caught them each a fat trout, and the fish had been stuffed with rosemary and wild onion. Jaskier could taste their delightful pungency all through the flesh. When he peeked into the belly, there were soft slices of carrot within, a rare treat on the road, as Jaskier couldn't handle the tops safely in the wild. And Geralt had wrapped them in mulberry leaves to bake on the coals, so they were soft and tender. All in all, Jaskier felt positively spoiled. It would surely be a crime to rush through this.

Geralt finished his fish with his customary expediency, and sat watching Jaskier savor his for several minutes. Was he wondering if his efforts were appreciated? Normally Jaskier would vocalize his enjoyment of this kind of treat, audible little "mm"s and "ahh"s, smacks of his lips, hums of delight. That was clearly out, though. Instead, a spirit of mischief took him over, and he made direct eye contact with Geralt. He tucked a sliver of trout into his mouth and closed his eyes in an expression of pleasure far more suited to carnal exploits. Then he opened his eyes slowly and gifted Geralt with a grin.

Geralt cleared his throat and shifted, looking away from Jaskier for a moment before he looked back. Jaskier just grinned bigger, happy to get one up on Geralt for once - especially after that marathon of randy songs. But then Geralt heaved in a deep breath, and Jaskier looked at him inquiringly.

"Are you still worried?" Geralt asked, looking a bit discomfited himself.

Jaskier just tilted his head, a bit confused. Hadn't they resolved this already?

"You played to yourself all day, not to me," Geralt said, and then frowned. "Not - we share conversation on the road, usually."

Ah, Jaskier understood now. Without the telltale sound of him sounding out lyrics over and over, it was hard to tell his idle playing from composition, he supposed. And the notebook wasn't practical unless they were stopped. He turned to tap it meaningfully, then played the tricky little tremolo that had so caught him.

Geralt's expression lightened, but he seemed to still have something weighing on him. Jaskier waited. It was best to give Geralt some time to gather his thoughts. Words didn't come as easily to him as they did to Jaskier, and their conversation earlier had been a bit emotionally fraught.

"If you were truly concerned, we don't have to go to the wedding," Geralt said. "Send a letter - delayed on the road, unexpected monster slaying. We can find one. Make a good enough excuse. Whatever you wish to do, we can do it."

Jaskier's heart thumped painfully in his chest. Geralt hadn't been taking the curse particularly seriously, but something today had driven home that Jaskier did. The witcher was a true friend, to say such a thing to him. But Jaskier trusted Geralt's word, and more than that, he was a professional. He didn't duck out of commitments. If he could perform, he would be there.

" _[The music is playing, my Jasieńko is having a wedding party there](https://youtu.be/Qqvurx8ND3U&t=68)_ ," he played[12], a classic folk tune about weddings he was absolutely _sure_ Geralt had heard several times in his life.

Geralt's face did something very strange for a moment, but in the waning firelight, Jaskier couldn't make out exactly what it was. Then the witcher smirked at him, the expression he wore when he knew he was being obnoxious. "I think we have to go to _this_ wedding first before we can start planning yours," he said.

Jaskier ran through that one in his head, then reached over to shove Geralt, laughing silently. Truly, he would [love to marry this man if there was an opportunity](https://youtu.be/ypFCWiTBoOw?t=25)[13], but such hadn't presented itself yet. He could be angry about the misunderstandings again, but why? It would end soon, and it had become so ridiculous as to be comical. He played another line, from later - _he won't be useful for you either during the day or during the night_ \- waggling his eyebrows at Geralt. Then they were both laughing, hard and riotous, leaning against one another until they both had to catch their breath. And Jaskier thought, smiling, that at least the curse was good for one thing. His loud, whooping laughter hadn't drowned out Geralt's chesty chuckle this time, so he could hear how lovely it was unimpeded.

* * *

It was midmorning when they reached the merchant's house - well, it was practically a compound, with the size, and it was full of frantic activity. If he had still been able to speak, Jaskier's throat would have closed up with nerves. Yesterday's sense of relief and lightness was gone. Truly, the spell should have broken as they broke camp, if it was as weak as Geralt had claimed, but when he opened his mouth, no noise issued forth. Jaskier was certainly not looking forward to fixing the fiasco of both of their reputations if it was up to Geralt to explain to the generous but rather ambitious client and his noble guests why, exactly, their famous entertainment would not be performing. He swallowed.

Thankfully, the stable boy was practically run off his feet and didn't want to talk to a famous bard or a famous witcher - he was simply grateful that the famous witcher preferred to settle his horse himself. He showed Geralt a stall near the end and then rushed off. Jaskier waited until Geralt had Roach's tack off and then slung his lute around towards the front. He hadn't played yet this morning, his nerves too frayed to take another fraught misunderstanding, but this song couldn't possibly mean anything else to Geralt. He was there when it was composed, after all. So Jaskier snapped his fingers to get the witcher's attention, touched his throat, opened his mouth, and began to play.

"[ _But the story is this, she'll destroy with her sweet kiss_](https://youtu.be/NyZvWBFbIRw&t=35)," he strummed, mouthing the words in case Geralt chose to play dumb. He didn't particularly want to involve Yennefer, but she was a mage, and she'd given them a way to contact her, and this curse needed to be broken.

Geralt stopped currying Roach down and hummed. "Guess you're right," he said, and put down the brush. "Haven't tried the classics."

Jaskier had just enough time to wonder what in all seven hells Geralt meant by that before there was a big, warm hand at his shoulder, and its matching brother on the side of his face, and Geralt was incredibly close to him - and then he was being kissed.

The first thing Jaskier registered, other than the shock, was warmth. It started at his lips and spread down into his heart, and from there back up into his throat, unlike any other kiss he'd ever received. It was rather magical, in fact. Jaskier sighed into the kiss, his own hands coming up to clutch at Geralt's armor, and made a happy little hum of his own when the witcher's lips moved softly across his own. Then he froze and pulled away. He'd heard that sound.

"I can speak," he said softly, his breath fluttering across Geralt's lips.

"Mm," Geralt said. "The classics." He leaned back in to press his lips against Jaskier's, and for a moment the bard let him. Then he frowned and pulled back again. Those years of refusing to be hypnotized by Geralt's plush lips weren't for nothing.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "You _knew_ that's not what I meant. There's no way you didn't, Geralt!"

Geralt shrugged minutely, a movement Jaskier felt more than saw. "You weren't getting the hint."

Jaskier's jaw dropped open. "The hint?" he said, perhaps a little more loudly than warranted. "You meant to do all that? That wasn't a hint, that was days of torture. I can't believe - ugh." He rolled his eyes. His voice was back, and Geralt had kissed him, and they didn't have to involve Yennefer after all. Jaskier had a hard time holding onto his anger. But it wouldn't do to let Geralt know that. So he stepped back from their embrace and pointed one finger at the witcher.

"You, sir, are incredibly lucky that this is a blessed day of matrimony! I won't sully a lovely ceremony with murder. But tomorrow, now - tomorrow you'd better watch your back!" he said, shaking that finger at Geralt.

By the small smile on Geralt's face, he wasn't entirely successful at his facade of irritation. "That's assuming you won't be too exhausted to move tomorrow," the witcher rumbled at him.

To his mortification, Jaskier felt a flush creeping up onto his face. "And you think we're entitled to our own honeymoon, hmm?" he asked. "After all you've done to me?"

"No," Geralt said, chuckling softly. "I think after twenty-five years, we're entitled to an anniversary celebration."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10House of the Rising Sun actually has its origins in Rising Sun Blues, a folk song from Appalachia first recorded in the thirties, and possibly older. The Animals version happened to fit better, textually, but I wanted to mention the older version. [ return to text ]  
> 11If you, like me before this fic and my rounds of ridiculous research, are only familiar with the electric guitar tremolo, [here's a famous lute piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZjY9wDOecwM) ending in one. It's quite lovely.  [ return to text ]  
> 12Translation from [here](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/%C5%9Bwieci-miesi%C4%85c-%C5%9Bwieci-moon-shining-shining.html-0). [ return to text ]  
> 13Translation from [here](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/wysz%C5%82abym-za-dziada-id-marry-man.html). Most of the Polish folk songs I found with English translations were about weddings in some way or another, so these two ended up grouped together. [ return to text ]


	4. Bonus Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the stuff not part of the story that might be relevant.

**Bibliography**

> A popular legend holds that Bolesław proceeded to Rome to beg forgiveness from Pope Gregory, who imposed on him to wander incognito as a mute repentant. On a summer evening in 1082, he reached the Benedictine Abbey at Ossiach in Carinthia, where he was received and did all kind of hard work until he finally was reconciled in the Sacrament of Penance and died.
> 
> At the walls of Ossiach, there exists a tomb bearing the depiction of a horse and the inscription Rex Boleslaus Polonie occisor sancti Stanislai Epi Cracoviensis ("Bolesław, King of Poland, murderer of Saint Stanislaus, Bishop of Kraków"). Instigated by Countess Karolina Lanckorońska, in 1960 the tomb was opened and indeed revealed male bones and the remains of a Polish knight's armor dating from the 11th century.

[Boleslaw II The Generous](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boles%C5%82aw_II_the_Generous#Ossiach_legend)

> The practice of borrowing a song from one sphere and making it suitable for use in the other by the substitution of words is known as "parody" or contrafactum.' … Examples of this can be found particularly in Goliardic verse, which sometimes parodies the forms of hymns and the church services

[Wessex Parallel WebTexts](http://wpwt.soton.ac.uk/notes/contraf.htm)

> The secular poetry of the Goliards ought to serve as a counter-balance to the age of faith, just as the literature of the Beat generation of the 1950s ought to counter-balance the claim that the 1950s was an age of bland conformity. Goliardic verse developed with the beginning of European universities in the 12th century. It flourished for more than a century but gradually disappeared, largely the result of ecclesiastical suppression, around the 14th century.
> 
> The Goliard poets are said to have been the followers of the tribe of Golias. The origin of this group is obscure but it could have been derived from the Old Testament Goliath, a Philistine giant sent to wage war on the children of Israel. The poets themselves were wandering scholars, young men who had usually studied at one of the medieval universities. Unwilling to endure the rigors of university life, these scholars dropped out to join the ranks of academic drifters who could be found in the environs of any European university.

[Steven Kreis, Lectures on Modern European Intellectual History](http://www.historyguide.org/intellect/goliard.html)

> Goliard satirical songs were aimed almost exclusively at the church, including attacks on the pope. Their opposition was met with anti-goliard legislation from the Catholic authorities. In 1227, for example, the Council of Trier forbade priests to allow goliards to participate in chanting religious services; and in 1289 the church ordered that no man could be both a cleric and a goliard.
> 
> It is hardly a wonder that the Catholic Church responded in this way when goliards were publicly mocking its authority and practices. Their derision included parodying hymns and church services, rewriting the words and inverting their meaning.

[Ian Pittaway, One song to the tune of another](https://earlymusicmuse.com/one-song-to-the-tune-of-another/)

> The Carmina Burana or Codex Buranus was compiled during the first half of the 13thcentury in Bavaria, with 1230 being an accepted date associated with the collection. The manuscript, whose title translates as “Songs from [the Cloister of] Benediktbeuren,” contains 254 poems from the 11th through the early 13th centuries. It includes several texts in the Middle High German dialect of the period, as well as macaronic texts alternating Latin and colloquial German. Many of the poems are French in origin but some have been altered to fit the inspirations of the Bavarian students and scribes. About 60 of the poems have music, making the collection one of the most important compilations of Medieval Latin poetry and songs.

> In the Medieval period, the practice of creating a contrafactum (using a pre-existing song, usually one that had its own text, and then substituting another text) a was very common practice and was generally thought to be a high tribute to the original poet/composer. The popular Crusade song _Nu alrêst lebe ich mir werde_ , by Walther von der Vogelweide (c. 1170 –c. 1228), the most famous of the minnesang composers, is a contrafactum of the troubadour song _Lanquan li jorn_ (Jaufre Rudel, d. c. 1247) A contrafactum of this melody is also used in this Carmina Burana song, a humorous and in-no-way refined example from the Songs of Drinking and Eating.

> _Tempus transit gelidum_ is another Spring song that is linked to Aquitanian chant, as it is the secular version of the conductus _Fulget dies celebris_ found in the St. Martial manuscript.

[Texas Early Music Project, The Original Carmina Burana: Unplugged & Organic](https://static1.squarespace.com/static/520e2816e4b004c7f37cd29d/t/5b91b3454fa51a59bb459b2d/1536275275141/Carmina_Guts_FINAL.pdf)  
This document is also where I got the English translations of the songs from the Carmina Burana featured in this fic.

> Duppel Museum Village, images from Google Photos: [one](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/p/AF1QipPlpANImjO3J6I43bUFuePO5fbbuqDGLuB5uwB8=w750-h1624), [two](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/p/AF1QipMik2KtOAZDMHH8_dRdr78okE3DPvLCIThhPoxG=w750-h1624), [three](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/p/AF1QipM2F6jGy4VDRMCb1hgaIxgifzTH-uAwlEXIXFOf=w750-h1624)

> [English translation of Lanquan li jorn by Carol Anne Perry Lagemann](https://stcpress.org/pieces/lanquan_li_jorn_son_lonc_en_mai)

> [Flow, My Tears is by John Dowland, modern transcription from Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flow,_my_tears)

> [English translation of Świeci miesiąc by Marta](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/%C5%9Bwieci-miesi%C4%85c-%C5%9Bwieci-moon-shining-shining.html-0)

> [English translation of Wyszłabym za dziada by claire098](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/wysz%C5%82abym-za-dziada-id-marry-man.html)

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering, yes, Geralt absolutely did use this as an excuse to talk about his feelings. He needs some help sometimes! Also, the spell should have broken day 4, but the mage's death added a little oomph to it by mistake.
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you liked this, [you can reblog it!](https://sirsparklepants.tumblr.com/post/634244883011469313/lost-in-translation-sirsparklepants)


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